


Checkmate

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Traveling Man [6]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 01:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8125039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Any, Any/Any, Grey hair and large, calloused hands are their biggest weakness."They are Evan's biggest weakness, and he indulges the night before he starts his new job at Cheyenne Mountain.





	

Evan knew, from growing up on the commune, that whatever made him happy (or whatever floated his boat) was perfectly acceptable, and his mother wouldn’t have blinked twice if he’d come home with someone’s grandma or a pretty boy or someone who was neither or was everything in between. Evan had grown up on the commune, and then he’d left it and joined the Air Force, and he knew his preferences had to remain strictly under wraps.  
  
His biggest weakness, hands down, was gray hair and large, callused hands.  
  
He found a bar that he knew no one else from the base would frequent. He left his dog tags at home (and felt a little like a married man who’d taken off his wedding ring), and he pulled on his favorite leather jacket and that one black t-shirt that made his chest look great and his softest, most worn pair of jeans, and he set out for a drink and a good time. He was celebrating a new posting - under Cheyenne Mountain, something top secret disguised as deep space telemetry. No more flying cargo planes for a while, but he’d definitely use his geophysicist skills. He was excited. And a little nervous. He was going to be 2IC of his own unit, which was pretty huge. And to top it off, he’d just made major.  
  
He figured all his hard work deserved a little payoff, so he sat the bar, ordered a drink, and scanned the room. He was too old to pull off the twinky look, and he wasn’t into the whole dominant bear thing, but there were plenty of guys who didn’t fit either stereotype, and Evan studied them.  
  
And then _he_ came in. Tall, leather jacket, confident. He smiled at the bartender and ordered a beer. He had grey hair and was carrying a chess set under one arm, of all things.  
  
Evan’s mother had always told him that people who were good at math were good at chess, and he shouldn’t feel bad, he was an artist, and artists were notoriously bad at math. Given how absent she’d been about his schooling (and how she hadn’t talked to him while he’d been in college and ROTC), she didn’t know how good he was at both math and chess (although she’d warmed up after graduation and come to reconcile with him in case The Man sent him off to die in a pointless conflict). He watched the man take his beer and settle at a back table, set up the board, and then kick back and wait. He was confident, if he was letting his opponent play white.  
  
The man was handsome, with bright, dark eyes and a cocky little grin, and Evan was interested. The man had big hands, a worker’s hands, though there was something graceful to them as he handled the chess pieces.  
  
Evan finished his drink, ordered a beer, and then approached the table.  
  
“You waiting for someone?”  
  
“You, if you think you can take me on,” the man said.

Evan slid into the booth opposite the man. “I don’t know if I can, but I’d like to find out.”  
  
“Then bring it on.” The man offered a hand. “I’m Jon.”  
  
“Steven,” Evan said. It was close enough to his name that he’d answer to it, and he’d used it before.  
  
“Nice to meet you, Steven. First move’s yours. Good hunting.”  
  
Evan raised his eyebrows at the familiar phrase, but he said nothing, shifted a pawn.  
  
The game started innocuously enough, the two of them setting up for the middle game where they’d battle for control of the middle of the board. Jon was a good player, cautious, but observant, and some of his moves were a little strange, but Evan had no doubt they’d pay off in the middle game, and he’d probably wince when he saw now.  
  
The flirtation started off innocuously, too, Jon bumping his knee against Evan’s under the table, casually enough to seem accidental at first, but then he was definitely pressing his knee against Evan’s, and then their fingers were tangling as they traded pieces in a bloody flurry in the middle game.  
  
By the end of the game, Jon was rubbing his knee against the inside of Evan’s thigh, and Evan was sure that if he won this game, he’d get the reward.  
  
The reward for checkmate was him and Jon stumbling into a back room, kissing hungrily, Jon’s warm, callused hands sliding up Evan’s shirt and over his too-warm skin. Jon was as good a lover as he was a chess player, and when he finally caught Evan in checkmate, he whispered in Evan’s ear, “Scream as loud as you want, the room’s soundproofed,” and Evan keened his pleasure into the night air.  
  
After they’d both recovered, they pulled their clothes back on, went back out to the bar. Jon packed up his chessboard - it had been undisturbed - and they parted ways at the door.  
  
Evan went home and fell asleep, languid and boneless in the aftermath of a pleasant orgasm, and he was still humming and happy the next morning when he went through his morning ritual - run, shower, breakfast, uniform on, to the Mountain.  
  
His humming and happy lasted through the endless paperwork some personnel sergeant had him sign.  
  
His humming and happy came to an abrupt halt when he was led down the corridor and shown into the office of his new CO, one Colonel Jack O’Neill, who had grey hair and big, callused hands and played a mean game of chess.


End file.
